


Clair de Lune

by Alania



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Slow Dancing, You Need A Teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6349789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania/pseuds/Alania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all things, he finds himself compelled to try and mold her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clair de Lune

She’d never danced before. Not really. The tribal rompings she’d mimicked from the sacred villages couldn’t be considered dancing; not compared to what she was watching, from her little cubby, in the tiniest little hole in the ground of a cantina. It couldn’t even be called that; it had two tables, a five by five foot dance floor, and a tiny bar that only served one type of alcohol. It was a perfect place to hide, but it smelled like smoke and she could hardly breathe in it’s air.

But _oh_ , none of that mattered when she watched them dance.

They were the only two other patrons there. She could tell they were poor. Middle aged, if the wrinkles around the corners of their eyes told her anything. And they were in love - she could see it in their eyes, focused so intensely on one another that she wondered if they even knew she was there. She watched them dance, fluid and graceful, like water flowing back and forth on the shore of a lake. She twisted, and he twirled her. She slid across the floor on pointed toes, and he barely let her touch the ground. It was the most beautiful thing Rey had ever seen in her entire life, and she envied them, more than anything.

She would never move with the finesse and sophistication of that couple. Her awkward limbs and hard edged body would never slide across the floor like silk. That wasn’t her. It would never be her.

She soaked it in, her chin in her hands, and sighed wistfully more than once as she watched the couple drown in each other’s love.

“Come.”

The voice made her heart clench with fear. She’d been too caught up in watching them, and forgotten to cloak her presence, or watch for his. She had no idea how long he’d been standing there, just behind her cubby, watching her. Her hand slid carefully to her lightsaber, reaching out to anticipate an attack.

Instead, he moved forward, and stared down at her with narrow, frustrated eyes. Her apprehension on his tongue provoked a certain recoil. The taste was cruel and abrasive, yet he had already anticipated being greeted in this manner. He persisted with a new understanding, one that his navigation within her recent musings had afforded him. Her mind was soft and easy then, but now in awareness, he was severed. 

“I said, come.”

“I’m not going _anywhere_ with you.” She whispered up to him, her fingers warning him that she was ready to fight her way out of the tiny room. She watched his tall form shudder as he sucked in a sharp sigh, and let it out quickly. He held both of his hands out, palms upward, and she looked from one to the other. He must have been showing her that he wasn’t going to arm himself - because she immediately denied the possibility that he thought she was going to _take_ those.

“We can fight _after_.” He promised her, his voice tight with impatience. 

She stared up at him in open disbelief. “After what?”

And there it was, that tiny smile, the one she never wanted to see again. 

“After I prove you _wrong_.”

The answer was enigmatic, and he had no idea how effective that made it. Rey was not going to let her guard down around him, but she had no idea what he thought he could prove her wrong about, and she _had_ to find out. A tiny voice inside of her cursed her own curiosity, before she took his hands.

Hers were so tiny against his. When he closed his fingers around them, her own hands disappeared, and she hated it.

That thought ceased to matter when he _tugged_ , and she all but flung out of her tiny cubby, losing the protection she’d felt within it just in time to slam face first into the brick wall of his overly layered chest. She pulled away almost immediately, sputtering with exasperation. He chose to ignore it, leading her towards the now abandoned square of empty space where the couple had been dancing.

She looked for them almost immediately, and found them in their own cubby. The woman was in his lap, and Rey couldn’t quite tell what they were doing, but she looked away immediately to be safe. Even if they were just kissing, she did _not_ want to intrude on their privacy any further; even if it would be a welcome distraction to what was happening in _her_ life during this very unreal, very _disorienting_ moment.

Kylo Ren was standing in the middle of a dance floor, maskless and scowling, and pulling her into his arms.

“What do you think you are _doing_?” She finally asked, trying to shove herself away from the arms that pulled her against him. “Are you out of your _mind_? I _know_ you’re out of your mind, but why are you this particular brand of crazy tonight?”

He took her arm, and wrapped it around his waist. The moment he let go, she pulled it away immediately. Her disobedience elicited a snarl out of him, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry about it. How could something so violent, so _evil_ , be trying to hold her at the same time it snarled like it wished to snap her neck?

The snarl vanished, and her jaw dropped in wonder as his expression fell with an instant sense of established calm. It was as if he’d flipped a switch, and all of that rage was gone.

But it wasn’t, really. She could feel it under the surface, waiting for her to trigger it again.

This was just another mask.

“This is a new challenge for you.” He whispered, words awkward as they were dark, setting her hand around his waist once more. “We exist outside of combat.”

The other arm rose, sliding his hand until his fingers fell into the spaces between hers, and interlocked. There, she could see her own hand reply to his, and it was no longer lost in the expanse of his hold. She tilted her head and stared at the betrayal of her own fingertips, until his arm slid around her waist and pulled her to him.

Everything in front of her was black, which was just fine, because she couldn’t bear to look at anything, anymore.

There was a movement, gentle and swaying, and for one long instant she realized; she was _dancing_ with him. It certainly wasn’t the elegant and rhythmic movement of the couple before them, but it was still dancing, and she was doing it. 

She was dancing.

Then that moment ended, and she remembered whose arms were leading her through that dance. The realization made her stumble and trip against his long legs, falling out of step with even the simplest move he made. Did he really think this was possible? That he was simply going to put his arms around her and _will_ her to be able to dance? What was he going to do next, _mind_ control her into knowing how to move the way he wanted?

“Not a bad idea.” He whispered into her hair, forcing an unwanted shiver through her when she heard the amusement in his voice, and felt the heat of his breath against the skin of her scalp. She growled, finally turning her head just enough to look up at him.

She wished she hadn’t.

“Stay _out_ of my head.” She seethed out, her expression tense with warning that she was this close to fighting her way out of his arms. His lips trembled with a smile she didn’t want from him, and then his arm tightened too hard, pulling her closer.

She squeaked. She _squeaked_. She was going to murder him for causing her to make that sound.

The uncharacteristic nature of the sound threatened to pull his smirk into disproportion. In his own cruel and bent way, he was enjoying himself at seeing her pliable. Or, close to it.

“Then get out of it.” He’d stilled, tilting his head to bend down enough to look at her. “You’ve done it before. I’ve _seen_ you. Stop focusing on how much you hate me, and predict my moves. It’s just like fighting.”

But his advice only tensed her further, and she leaned up to glare into his eyes, challenging him.

“Is that what this is?”

She caught the fire that lit in his eyes, and the way his nostrils flared. She thought it meant she was on to something. Instead, it meant the opposite.

He held her just far enough to give him the room to bend down, and his eyes met the height of hers. She forced herself to stare back; and each time her eyes tried to wander, tempted to focus on the bridge of his nose or the curve of his cheek, she stiffened and refocused her gaze sharply. If he was going to stare her down, she wasn’t going to back down from it.

But neither was he. He was continuously challenging her with his watch, pupils shuttering in severe focus, only broken by calculated blinks. There was such terrifying depth behind his gaze, telling of where his consciousness perched. 

It felt like forever before he finally spoke again.

“ _You_ look at others, and you see things that you feel you _lack_. You see grace, poise, movement you believe you could never achieve. I find myself inclined to tell you that you have _already_ achieved these things; you’re simply blind to them. You see so much in others, yet you’re blind to yourself.”

He’d leaned in too close, his words seething through his teeth as if they pained him to admit. His mask had fallen; it was all he could do to keep himself from exploding, but even he could not decide what the detonation would cause. So instead, he straightened, and he swayed, pulling her frozen body out of the stasis his intensity had locked her in, and forced her to dance.

Her mind had turned to static, which was surprisingly helpful for following his lead. She let him sway her like a doll, sliding across the dance floor, but she was no more graceful than a marble statue, and his anger rose with every second he moved her.

It did not take long before he pulled her away, and held her far enough to see her clearly. He remained there, his arms still locked on her, making sure she wouldn’t fall if he let go.

She was staring. She was just _staring_.

Her eyes were wide but she was no longer present. Proving this with a ginger step backward, he faltered, and the dance came to a startling halt. The feigned closeness, or – something he couldn't, didn't want to place - proved too strong of a sensation. Confusion shuffled through his bones, even as he took what was necessary and stole himself away entirely. He was gone before her hands had the chance to drop to her sides.

She didn’t truly register that he’d left, but she’d heard the swish of his robes and felt the sudden cold that prickled her skin until it rose with goosebumps. She remained exactly where she was, blanked out in shock, until the com link on her arm began beeping frantically in a distress call. That was enough to shake her from her comatose reverie.

She switched it on, and heard the message in mid-sentence as Poe yelled for her.

“-THREE, MAYBE FOUR INCOMING, TWO SHIPS ALREADY DOCKED, REN’S HEADED FOR THE BASE, REY ARE YOU READING THIS? WE NEED YOU-”

Her jaw dropped open in shock. Had everything she’d just experienced been some kind of illusion? A mind trick? Or had he really just left the cantina and gone straight for the Resistance base nearby?

Was all of this some kind of ruse to keep her occupied?

Her heart fissured, and she blamed the pain on her rage, and nothing more.

“That son of a NERF HERDER!” She screamed, startling the couple in the cubby moments before grabbing her jacket and tearing out of the cantina in order to return to base.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again Matt for helping me with some of the Kylo bits! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at every-day-is-star-wars-day.tumblr.com or reysabadass.tumblr.com if you want to ask the character questions.


End file.
